


The Brave: Missing Scenes and Book Ends

by koalathebear



Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-01-28 09:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12603852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: Just some random missing scenes and book ends for the NBC series "The Brave".  Tenses will flip depending on how I feel ...





	1. Harder for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little scribble set towards the end of the pilot

"You're the only CO I've ever had who looks at me and doesn't see a woman first."  
"Well, I may not see it, but I don't forget it."  
"Because I know that getting here was harder for you than I'll ever understand."  
\- Pilot

 

While Jaz is right that when Dalton looks at her, he doesn't see a woman first. He sees his right hand man … woman. 

He sees a trusted team-mate, if not the most trusted member of his team. 

It's not just that he _would_ trust her with his life – he's _already_ trusted her with his life on many occasions. 

Dalton's lost count of the number of times he's gone into a hot zone, knowing that the only thing between him and certain death is the watchful eye of his guardian angel. His very lethal guardian angel, her rifle ruthlessly picking off the hostiles with calm, deliberate precision before they can bring him down.

He's learned to ignore Preach's ribbing about how he always pairs himself up with Jaz on missions. He hasn't bother to try to introspect about the reasons. If he did, he'd probably conclude that she complements him, she's always got his back – the two of them have always meshed well together in the field. It's an indisputable fact and Preach knows it.

He wouldn’t go so far as to say they can read each other's minds (in fact it would be dangerous is she could read his), but they anticipate and understand the actions of the other when on mission. A flicker of the eyes, a faint gesture, a slight grimace – the most subtle of cues is enough to let the other know what needs to be done and what's going to happen.

He'd take a bullet for any of his team… but he knows he knows he'd die for Jaz Khan, and she for him.

Doesn't mean that he doesn't notice all the little things about her, though. He'd never tell her that even when she's hot, sweaty and filthy as hell, she still smells better than Amir, McGuire or Preach. He doesn't tell her that sometimes he almost wants to ask her what the subtle fragrance on her skin is … but he doesn't because he's pretty damned sure it's the same regulation soap and shampoo that they all use, it's just that on Jaz it smells good. 

Real good.

He'd never tell her that it's with great effort that when she's got a tangled strand of hair falling across her eyes, it takes every ounce of his willpower not to reach out and brush it back for her. That he doesn't let himself touch her because he knows that his fingertips would linger on her smooth, damp skin for longer than necessary …

He'd never want to make things weird between them. He's seen good working relationships fucked up by … well, fucking. Not that he thinks of Jaz that way. Not at all. Never. He's just aware of the boundaries, the chain of command and the fact that she's a member of his team.

He ignores Preach's shit-eating grin as he ribs them, talks about relationship and closeness. Dalton tries to pretend he doesn't notice her calm, level gaze … Her low-pitched laugh and the frown that pulls together her dark brows.

"You all right, Top?" she asks him, staring at him with a quizzical expression in her large, dark eyes. 

"Fine," he tells her. 

"You worried I'm going to kick your ass in soccer?" she demands, tossing the ball at him which he catches easily.

"In your dreams," he retorts as the team jog towards the beach.


	2. Immediate Dust Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during episode 1.02 Moscow Rules

"Mortem 2, you are clear of threats but not for long," Jaz could hear D.C. telling them through her earpiece.

_On my signal, I want you and Amir to secure the LZ for touchdown. If my timing's right, we should only be a few seconds behind you._

Yeah right. 

Jaz stood, scanning the vicinity, her face grim and tense. Where the hell were they? She could almost feel the tension of those sitting in the waiting chopper behind her, 

"Recommend immediate dust-off."

Jaz stared into the darkness, unaware that she was shaking her head slightly, a gesture that would have been completely lost on the team back in D.C. "Mortem 2? Mortem 2?" the voice demanded urgently.

Fuck. This.

Jaz turned around sharply. Still standing outside of the chopper, she started to drag the door of the chopper closed, coldly ignoring McGuire's scowling expression as he realised the unilateral call that she had just made.

"There they are!" Cassie Conner called out, pointing emphatically at a shadow in the bushes and Preach followed close behind by Dalton came running towards the chopper. 

"Four!" Jaz counted out loud, touching Preach's back as he leapt into the chopper.

"Did you see the signal?" Dalton demanded outrageously of her and Jaz looked at him witheringly, her expression exasperated. 

"Five!" she counted out loud, her hand touching his shoulder lightly as he joined the others in the chopper. She clambered inside, pulled the door shut and the chopper finally took off.

"Mortem 2, you are clear of 50 cal range," Noah told them after a few tense seconds.

There was profound relief inside the chopper and Jaz could see everyone relax slightly as they realised that there was an actual possibility that they were going to get out of this one alive.

An exhausted Cassie leaned back against McGuire who, never one to turn down a pretty girl, put his arm about her shoulders reassuringly. Amir and Preach exchanged glances before also allowing themselves to exhale slowly and relax.

Only Dalton remained vigilant, his face slightly grim as he studied her. Despite his initial flippancy, Jaz could see that it had just dawned upon him that when he and Preach had arrived at the LZ, that she'd been intending to send the chopper on its way – and remain behind.

A muscle moved in Dalton's jaw. Jaz could have found herself alone and vulnerable as Zbarov and his men closed in on her.

He said nothing but his eyes were flat and shuttered with quiet disapproval. The dark-haired woman met his gaze unflinchingly, knowing exactly what he was pissed off about, but said nothing.

*

Post-debrief once back in Turkey, the team relaxed in their customary manner. Food, drink and sport. 

Jaz watched Dalton as he manned the grill, the equal measures of dust and rust doing absolutely nothing to detract from the delicious scent of steaks, sausages, burgers and onions.

"Patton. Lay down," he ordered the Malinois who eyed him defiantly. "Lay down …this is pointless," he was muttering as Jaz approached him.

"Seems like no one wants to listen to you," she remarked sardonically.

"Yeah, I'm sensing a pattern."

"Listen, I was wrong to question you when you were waiting on D.C."

Dalton continued looking down at the grill. "Well, you were frustrated."

"I was wrong. Doing nothing was the right call. And it was your call, and I'm sorry." 

It wasn't easy to apologise, but it was done.

"What was that? I thought I heard something," he remarked, clicking the tongs together and feigning deafness as he leaned towards her slightly.

She glanced around. "I don't think anyone said anything," she told him and there was a moment of brief laughter. Neither of them noticed Preach watching them narrowly from a short distance away, a contemplative expression on his face.

"Look, when I was a kid, my old man used to get sloppy as hell. Only thing I could do was wait. Just sit there, take whatever he threw at me. Let it pass. Sometimes all you can do is wait."

"People like us don't do powerless very well."

"You think?" he demanded quizzically as he walked past her to get the bread rolls. She watched him walk past her, a wry smile on her face.

She waited as he returned to the grill, taking a long swallow from her drink. and he raised an eyebrow at her. "Since we're talking about the mission …"

"Yeah?"

"Seems like the words _recommend immediate dust off_ " mean nothing to you." His words were cool and even, but there was slight edge to his voice.

Jaz met his gaze squarely. "Hey, I was closing the door - "

"With you on the wrong side of the door. What was the plan exactly? Did you think that you were going to strand yourself in Sverdlovsk and take on Zbarov's goons single-handedly?"

"You and Preach were out there," she countered, a slightly defensive note in her voice.

"No guarantees that you would be able to find us." 

"Well I sure as hell wasn't going to leave without you, Top." she told him flatly, her dark eyes defiant. Entirely unapologetic for her actions.

He started to speak but she cut him off abruptly. "What about if it had been me? Would you have left me behind?"

He frowned. "That's different. I'm the team lead– "

"Bull shit," she told him scornfully.

She grabbed a bit of sausage, blew on it to cool it and then told Patton to drop. The dog dropped to the ground obediently, looking up at her expectantly, catching the bit of sausage she threw at him.

"Traitor," Dalton reproached the dog who grinned at him unrepentantly.

"What's that look for?" Jaz demanded, coming to sit beside Preach on the bench.

"Nothing," he told her blandly. "Just observing … processing … parsing the data …"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I really should have left both you and Dalton behind in the Ukraine."

Their laughter made Dalton smile in response, his gaze lingering on Jaz's laughing features thoughtfully.


	3. Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during "The Greater Good" when the team is preparing to swap out Ranier Boothe's cell phone in the hotel bar.

Dalton leaned back in his chair and watched as Jaz applied mascara to her thick lashes with a careful hand. The transformative power of cosmetics always startled him. Jaz was already a beautiful woman without make-up and with the make-up applied, she projected a very different type of beauty.

"You don't really need that ... stuff ..." he said gesturing at the carry case full of cosmetics that sat open on the table in front of Jaz with the mirror angled towards her.

"Since when are you the expert, Top?" she asked him ironically as she applied bronze eye shadow to one eyelid and then the other. 

The black eyeliner gave her a sultry, provocative appearance and then she applied mascara to her thick lashes.

"Don't let him help you out, Jaz. Not sure camo face paint is going to help you blend in at the hotel bar …" McG jibed.

Jaz laughed and slanted Dalton a challenging grin and handed him a tube of lipstick. "Do your damndest."

Dalton stared down at the small silver tube in his hand. _Shiseido Ruby Copper._

"Isn't this just a fancy way of saying red?" he asked her ironically, removing the lid and twisting the base.

"Oh no … you run the risk of looking like a clown …" Amir told her with genuine apprehension in his voice as Dalton placed the lipstick against Jaz's lips.

"Maybe you should use a lip brush," Preach suggested tactfully. "Or even a lip liner first."

"Let the man concentrate," Jaz muttered as Dalton carefully applied the lipstick to her full lower lip first and then her upper lip. He was concentrating on her mouth, his gaze resting on her lips but she was staring into his face, noting the thickness of his lashes, the way his pupils dilated.

"Done," he declared as he drew back and put the lid back on the lipstick and handed it back to her, his gaze resting on her face, moving from her large, dark eyes and moving down to rest upon her full pouting mouth.

"Well? How does it look, Top?" she asked him mockingly.

"Perfect," he replied automatically without even thinking about his answer.


	4. Sonora Ensemble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little scribble set at the end of 1.03 "The Greater Good".

"Deputy Director Campbell," Dalton says over the headset.

"Hello, Dalton," Campbell replies politely.

"Looks like we're going to be wheels-up here in about two minutes. Got any last-minute errands you want us to run?" his questions her sardonically.

"I'm out of eggs," she responds immediately.

Jaz bites back a smile as she continues loading their gear onto the plane, tossing a bag in the direction of McG who catches it lightly and throws it on-board the plane. 

The easy relationship between the Deputy Director and Dalton makes life easier for all of them. While the older woman calls the shots, it's clear that she trusts Dalton implicitly, giving him significant autonomy in the field. It's that flexibility that allows him to make decisions that can save their lives.

"That was brave of you, man, making yourself a target like that on the motorcycle," McG compliments Amir with a complete lack of sincerity in his voice.

"Thank you," Ami replies with sincerity in his voice. 

"We were actually taking bets on whether or not you were going to get smoked, though," McG continues and Amir's eyes widen in shock.

"The only one who thought you were gonna make it was Vargaz," Jaz tells him earnestly with a completely straight face. Amir stares at her, clearly not sure what to make of her deadpan expression.

"Yeah, seriously, Amir. We thought you were going to get smoked," Preach tells him.

Amir stares between Preach and McG, consternation in his large puppy dog eyes.

McG finally takes pity on him. "He's messing with you," he reassures him, slapping his team-mate on the arm as the three of them clamber into the back of the small plane and McG pulls the ladder up behind them and closes the door. 

Jaz clambers into the cockpit alongside Dalton whose readying the plane for take-off. "You done giving the new guy a hard time?" he quizzes her and she shrugs, sliding the headphones onto her head and pulling the door closed behind her.

The plane taxies along the dust and dry grass a second time and all of them hope that they're not going to get any last minute intel that makes it necessary to disembark again. They've spent more than enough time in Sonora.

When they finally take off, Jaz gives a silent sigh of relief and Dalton glances over at her, grinning.

"What?" she demands defensively as his grin widens. 

"The t-shirt," he tells her, indicating her utilitarian t-shirt of charcoal grey.

"What about it?" she demands, looking down at it suspiciously.

"Not half as cool as the leopard print look you were rocking before," he teases her, referring the fetching ensemble that she'd had to wear when going undercover at Sofia's salon in town. The salon's uniform had consisted of a snug and garish long-sleeved blouse of purple roses, accompanied by a long sleeveless vest of leopard-print. Combined with the large hooped ear-rings, her teased and crimped hair and the plum-coloured lipstick on her usually unpainted mouth, Jaz had very much looked the part of a salon consultant and the team had ribbed her about it mercilessly.

"It's not like any of you would have looked any better in the ensemble, Top," she retorts sharply and he laughs. He always finds it funny and more than a little fascinating to watch Jaz dolling herself up before a mission. Whether it's watching her arrange her hijab, niqab, burka, al-amira or shayla or just watching her transform her already striking face with cosmetics, it's like watching a shapeshifter in action. 

"I don't know … I think McG was hoping for the chance to go undercover as a beauty salon consultant ..." Dalton jokes as the plane flew towards the horizon and the team starts giving McG a hard time instead.


	5. Campbell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after 1.04 "Break Out". Non-shippy. Just a little snippet.

The team as Dalton and Patricia Campbell stand side by side talking to one another a short distance away from the chopper.

"What do you think they're talking about," Amir asks curiously.

Jaz is silent. McG glances at Preach who shrugs. "The captain knew her son … "

Amir studies the two figures standing in the desert narrowly. He's barely exchanged more than a handful of words with the blonde woman this mission even though he knows that she's the puppet master who pulls the strings and controls their destiny from afar.

The rest of the team appear relaxed about her role, respecting her and appearing to be happy to defer to her judgment. 

When the Campbell and Dalton finally walked back to the chopper, Campbell sits at the front with the pilot and Dalton drops into the seat next to Jaz who is sitting there impatiently while McG retapes her fingers.

"Hand getting any better?" he asks and McG gives him a withering look.

"The usual, Top. As soon as any of us starts healing, we get banged up again."

"It's fine," Jaz drawls slowly.

"You'd say that even if it wasn't," Dalton tells her severely and she shrugs carelessly. "That was some good work today from all of you," he tells them and McG and Preach grins as Amir flushes slightly in pleasure. The team are at the point when they have learned to move as a unit with only minimal communication necessary. to communicate. 

"You encounter any trouble when you were setting overwatch?" he asks Jaz and she shakes her head. 

"Nothing I couldn't handle," she replies, thinking back on the Taliban goon who had triggered her motion sensor detector to his own detriment. "Besides – who's the guy who asked to be locked inside of a prison riot?"

"Guilty," he accepts. "Still better than being responsible for releasing a thousand bad guys into the desert."

"Agreed," McG concedes as he finishes with Jaz and moves onto examining Dalton. "You got a pretty bad knock on the head – and then you were knocked on your ass by the blast …"

"Might have knocked some sense into him," Preach jibes.

"Don't count on it," Jaz counters.

"What's a guy gotta do to get a little respect from his team?" Dalton demands comically but relaxes in his seat as he lets McG conduct his examination.


	6. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during and after 1.05 Enhanced Protection.

Alone is what both of your sorry asses is gonna be.  
\- Ezekiel "Preach" Carter

 

"You good on mags?" Dalton asks as they prepare to ascend the escalator into the shopping complex.

"Yep," Jaz replies curtly, her face a grim mask.

"Hey," Dalton tells her urgently. "Don't worry. We'll get her."

Her expression remains unchanged but there's a flicker in her dark eyes that tells him that she's registered his words. 

Jaz has never been one to wear her heart on her sleeve. Even when Vallins died, she dealt with her grief in her own way – alone and silent. All of them attended mandatory sessions with the department shrink and Jaz had said all the right things, told the shrink that she was grieving and dealing with it.

She doesn't betray that weakness to Dalton even though he knows that she she's more than a little rattled by the fact that the young girl is still inside the shopping centre. He knows tha it's not just that Ade's a militant zealot - a psychopath. It's the fact that Jaz is blaming herself for having missed the girl during the first sweep.

Jaz says nothing, a flick of her eyes telling him wordlessly that she's ready to move out.

*

"Right here, sweetie. Hey. Hey, hey, hey, I got you. You're safe."

Dalton watches from a distance. Jaz is soft and completely vulnerable as she holds the young girl against her. "See? You're pretty tough, too," she tells her and there's a complete and utter look of relief in her face, in the set of her shoulders and the line of her body.

She glances his way and he gives her a slight nod. _You did it._

 _We did it._ Her smile curves her unpainted mouth, her dark eyes glow and he feels the warm happiness he always does when Jaz smiles. 

Preach doesn't know what he's talking about. They're not alone at all.


	7. Mind Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set some time after the end of 1.06 The Seville Defection

_You know, we never did finish that little test of ours. You know, the whole thing where you could read my mind._  
\- Jasmine Khan, 1.06 The Seville Defection

As Chad, one of the visiting analysts in-country for the mission debrief started to hand Jaz a mug of steaming coffee, Dalton reached over and whisked the mug out of the way.

"What the – ?" Jaz demanded, staring up at him accusingly while Chad shot him a quizzical look from behind his hipster glasses.

"Black. Never give pollute Jaz's coffee. Makes her cranky. Throws off her aim," he teased.

"If you weren't my commanding officer, I'd – " she started to retort.

"There have to be some benefits associated with rank," Dalton replied smugly as Chad held up his hands apologetically. 

"Sorry, I'll make another cup for you, Jaz," he told her, his soft hazel eyes eager to please. 

"It makes me cranky, but nothing throws off my aim," Jaz replied, shooting Dalton a scowl that would make lesser men quail.

"Hey, I can't help it if the truth hurts," Dalton remarked, taking a sip of the coffee and then grimacing.

"Amir, this travesty is more in line with your preferences," he told the intelligence director of his team.

Amir took the mug. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with cream and sugar. It's called being civilised."

"That so?" Preach asked with a cocked brow, looking very amused at the thought. "Are you calling Jaz uncivilised?"

Jaz rolled her eyes and rose to her feet in one effortless motion, walking away from the group over to the balcony overlooking out on the Ankara street. Usually based out of Incirlik Air Base in Adana, the team rarely travelled to the capital but the brass and VIPs usually preferred the relative comfort of the capital, so here they were in one of Ankara's fancier hotels for the post-mission debrief.

When Chad joined her to give her a mug of black coffee, the team looked on and McGuire grinned. "Pretty boy's got a crush …"

Dalton's head swivelled around almost violently. "Don't be stupid."

"Didn't say Jaz liked him back," McGuire noted.

"Well of course she doesn't. Since when does she go for spoiled hipsters?" Dalton demanded.

"What exactly is Jaz's type?" Amir asked curiously. "Not that I'm interested – just asking," he said, holding up his hands defensively before anyone could shoot him down.

"Not that," Dalton muttered, glaring at the two people on the balcony who were engaged in light-hearted conversation, one that elicited a rare laugh from Jaz. The sound hit Dalton in the gut like a fist. That low, earthy chuckle … the laugh that lit up her customarily serious dark eyes and made even the crappiest of shitholes seem like a better place.

When Chad finally left, Dalton strolled out onto the balcony to sit beside Jaz who continued to study the street. "Trying to get line of sight?" he teased.

"You think you know me so well," she scoffed, turning her head back to glance at him. "Everyone in the team knows how I take my coffee…"

"Do they know you sing show tunes to yourself when you're nervous?"

"Fuck you, I never get nervous," she countered, although he knew he'd hit home.

"Told you I could read your mind," he joked, even though they both knew it was bullshit. 

He'd tried to game her into spilling her guts and failed. Behind all the bluster and his completely unsubstantiated claims of knowing what she was thinking, he actually wished he could read her mind, sometimes. There was something unfathomable and unsettling about the look she sometimes got on her face. The grim, almost blank expression that told him that she'd gone to a place far away that only she could reach.

"Top?" 

"Huh?" he blinked, shook his head slightly and stared at her. Based on the quizzical expression on her face, she'd been saying his name a few times. 

"Why are you smiling like that?" he asked her suspiciously, seeing the faint smile that curved her full, unpainted mouth.

"Maybe I can read your mind."

He smiled. "Doubt it." Despite being the most trusted member of his team, the one he believed in without hesitation … Jasmine Khan was still a mystery to him in so many ways.


	8. Nightmares Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Jaz's revelations in 1.07 It's Personal.

They all have nightmares. It's part of the job. That's the reason why after the debrief, Patricia always forces them to speak to the damned DIA shrink. As the person who usually has the highest kill rate per mission in the team, Jaz hates it more than any of them. She's got no choice in the matter and accepts it with a certain grim impassiveness.

"It's my job. I kill the bad guys," she drawls flippantly, leaning back in her chair as she stares defiantly into the webcam. 

She's fully aware that she's not just speaking to the shrink back in D.C.. The damned webcam captures every single micro-expression, the microphone captures every single inflexion in her voice and it's analysed, parsed to determine whether she continues to be fit for duty. 

It's confidential – except where it's not. Patricia sees the footage and as the leader of the team, Dalton does, too. 

"And how do you think Sergeant Khan is coping, Captain Dalton?" Dr. Carstairs asks him after he watches part of one of Jaz's many sessions. To someone doesn't know her, she looks expressionless but Dalton knows the quiet blaze in her dark eyes is a defiant fuck you to the shrink. The shrug of her slender shoulders speaks volumes to him.

"She's coping," Dalton says with a nonchalant shrug.

"But you say she's still having nightmares."

Dalton stares into camera with the cool, unwavering gaze that makes Carstairs flinch. "You are aware of what we do, right doc?" His voice is polite but there's an edge to it.

"Is she still having nightmares about Sergeant Vallins?" Carstairs asks him, referring to Elijah. That jackass who refused to be serious no matter the gravity of the situation, whose laugh was only silenced on the day he walked in the wrong door and got himself killed on duty.

Right behind him, it had been Jaz, Vallins' best friend who caught him when he fell, who had to be dragged off his bleeding body so that McG could tend to wounds that ultimately ended up being fatal.

Jaz hadn't cried then and she as far as Dalton knew, she hadn't cried since then but the shadow of Vallins' death remained heavy in her dark gaze even now.

It had hit them all hard, but it ripped a hole in Jaz's heart and Dalton's soul. Jaz blamed herself for letting Vallins go in first, Dalton blamed himself because Vallins was a member of his team and ultimately he was responsible for every death.

Jaz wakes up from her nightmare and stares up blindly into the dark, stares up at Dalton's face as he looks down at her calmly. Her throat is sore.

"Was I screaming?" she asks hoarsely, her voice dry and cracked.

He nods and moves back from her bunk, walking to the other side of the prefab that serves as her quarters on the base and drops to the ground, leaning back against the wall.

Jaz stares blindly at her hands. In her nightmare, they were covered in blood, wet and sticky. She reaches a hand up to touch her cheeks that are also dry and not wet with tears.

"No, I don't want to talk about it," she tells him and he slants her a look.

"Did I ask?" he questioned, his smile rueful. 

She slides out of the bed, barefoot and her feet touch the cold floor and she walks over to sit beside him on the floor.

"Sorry for waking you up, Top," she tells him and he gives her a nudge with his shoulder.

"Don't be stupid."

She rolls her eyes and exhales slowly. Her dark hair is a in a tangle about her shoulders, dishevelled and heavy. She reaches back to tie it into a loose knot and closes her eyes for a moment.

"I still have nightmares about that night, too," he tells her.

"I thought I said I didn’t want to talk about it," she says tersely, her eyes still closed.

"You did. I'm doing the talking," he replies evenly, his eyes shadowed and haunted. "It was my fault. His death's on me. It's always going to be on me."

Jaz snorts. "It's your turn to be stupid. We all know what we signed up for…" She opens her eyes and stares at him. "It's how I want to go out … on the job, quickly. I'll have no regrets if that's how I die, Top," she tells him earnestly. "Better than being maimed, slowing you guys down – putting you in danger. I'd rather go out fast than be a burden."

Her words are like a fist to the gut. "No fucking way, Jaz," he tells her. "I don't want you thinking like that."

"Too bad. You think I don't know you?" she demands of him. "Think I don't know that you'd risk your own life to get me out of there … carry my wrecked body in your arms to get me treatment? But that's not what I want."

"And what about you? Would you leave me there? What would you do?" he challenges, his eyes defiant and she glares at him and then looks away sharply. 

It's the same. She'd grab him and pull him out of a fire fight even at the cost of her own life. They all would. It's what pulled them together as a team. McG would be swearing continuously under his breath as he worked over them … 

Jaz leaps to her feet lightly and reaches down to pull Dalton to his feet as well. "I'm going back to bed."

"Need me to watch over you to keep the monsters away?" he asks her.

"Fuck you," she tells him, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

His low chuckle makes her smile in the darkness. He waits until slides back into bed and then he opens the door and gives a low whistle.

"Jeez Top, I'm not a baby … " she protests but Patton pads into the room and leaps up onto her bunk, the dog curling up at the foot of the bed and promptly falls asleep.

"Not necessary … besides, he snores."

"And farts," Dalton points out as he leaves Jaz's quarters and closes the door behind him, returning to the emptiness of his own quarters.


	9. Breakfast Detail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after 1.07 It's Personal. I was kind of amused by Amir casting shade at every one else's cooking. Just some silly fluff... Please don't judge me.

Amir always goes all out when it's his turn for breakfast detail. Sometimes he'll prepare the rich and spicy shakshuka that McG's has declared he likes – when he's not calling it the Chaka Khan.

At other times, he prepares one of Jaz's favourites - Knefeh, a morning 'dessert' prepared with melted cheese pastry soaked with sweet sugar based syrup, and served in a round-shaped thick bread topped with sesame seeds. On those mornings, the rest of the team watch Jaz with great amusement as she enjoys her breakfast with intense enthusiasm, eyes closed, swallowing slowly as the tip of her tongue licks the sticky syrup off her full, unpainted lips. If any of them have noticed the way Dalton's pupils dilate as he watches Jaz enjoying her food, no one's saying anything.

Dalton prefers the simplicity of Amir's take on mankouche, a flat bread topped or filled with olive oil, cheese and the occasional tomato. It's delicious and filling, but not too fancy for the man who enjoys good food but doesn't like fussy _cordon bleu_ nonsense. 

Preach, the health nut, always votes for Amir's Fatteh when he gets the chance - a bowl of chickpeas covered with a mix of hot yoghurt and garlic, topped with pine nuts and baked pita, although Jaz always recoils and groans exaggeratedly when Amir brings out bowls of Fatteh.

"You know I'm never gonna be a fan of chickpeas, Amir," she mutters in her low voice, her strongly marked brows drawn into a frown.

"Word," Dalton agrees fervently. "As far as I'm concerned, it's up there … or rather down there with couscous and quinoa."

"We work with barbarians and savages," Amir replies sadly. 

"Amen," Preach agrees with him.

It's a simpler much affair when the others have breakfast detail. When it's Dalton's turn to prepare breakfast, it's sausages, eggs, hash browns and mushrooms drowning in butter on top of thick crusty toast. A meal that usually leaves them groaning for the rest of the day. "Instant heartattack," is Preach's commentary on Dalton's cooking.

"Makes me feel like a lumberjack," McG says approvingly as he tucks in hungrily. 

When it's his turn for breakfast detail, Preach gives them healthy smoothies filled with a variety of fruits and vegetables that make the rest of the team roll their eyes. 

"Drinking Kale is just wrong, man ..." Dalton tells him as he manfully drains the green drink and pretends that it's food not hipster swill.

McG makes things that he dares to call burritos that have the team burping and farting for hours. 

"I've seriously never seen a burrito like this before, McG …" Amir remarks as he suppresses a juicy belch after finishing his breakfast.

"It's a _breakfast_ burrito, man. Get with it." The team are all at pains not to stand downwind from one another or in an enclosed space on the days that McG has breakfast detail.

Jaz tends to stick with simplicity. Eggs on toast. Scrambled, poached, boiled … but, as Amir has pointed out, they always seem to be on the runny side as if in a fit of impatience she's pulled them off the stove a moment too soon.

"Jaz – no offence, but it's really not that hard to cook eggs properly. Do you want me to teach you?" Amir tries to suggest one day when he picks up a piece of his toast and studies the sticky, runny egg yolk sliding off the bread onto his plate and coagulating in a congealed, orange pool.

"There's nothing wrong with the eggs," Dalton retorts, using his remaining bit of toast to mop up the running yolk. "We didn't all grow up with a cook, you know," he points out.

Nonetheless, Jaz can't help taking the comments to heart and she decides to take Amir up on his offer of cooking lessons.

*

"What's going on here?" Dalton remarks as he walks in, towelling his damp hair dry and studying the scene in front of him with sharp-eyed interest. Jaz is in her pyjama bottoms and a snug tank-top, tousled hair pulled up carelessly into a pony tail as she stands in front of the stove next to Amir who's wearing a faded t-shirt and track pants.

Jaz glances lazily over one tanned shoulder. "Cooking lessons, Top," she drawls.

"Oh no, is everything gonna be burned?" McG asks and neatly catches the onion that Jaz throws at his head, setting it back on the counter. He's shirtless, having just woken up and has a towel over his shoulder as he heads towards the showers.

"Not funny, McG," Jaz tells him, even as she grins at him.

"You know I'll eat anything," he counters. "Even what you cook, Jazzy. Don't throw the onion again," and then swears loudly as it hits the back of his head with a thud as he walks out of the room.

"How's she doing?" Dalton asks curiously as Preach enters the room and surveys the scene. There's a great deal of comprehension and amusement on his face as he takes in Dalton's wariness and Jaz's almost endearing uncertainty.

Amir smiles. "Doing good. On the impatient side – no surprises there. Doesn't like to follow the recipe. Again no surprises there."

"Are we going to need our stomachs pumped?" Dalton asks teasingly and then holds up his hands in surrender when Jaz picks up a peeler.

"Even with a potato peeler, I'm deadly, Top."

"I'm aware," he counters, going to stand beside her and brave her wrath as he peers down at their efforts.

Fifteen minutes later and McG, Dalton and Preach are sitting at the table pouring coffee out for everyone as Amir and Jaz serve up crêpe with lemon and sugar and savoury galettes with gruyère cheese, onion and bacon.

McG gives a low whistle. "Packet mix, Jaz?" he asks provocatively.

"Made from scratch," Amir tells him before Jaz can say anything. Jaz's face is flushed from the heat of the skillet and she watches expectantly as they sample the food.

"Good," Dalton says approvingly, trying not to sound surprised.

McG mutters something that's entirely incomprehensible because he's busy shovelling his food into his mouth.

"Take a seat, Jaz, you deserve it," Amir tells her and she sits down and grins as he puts a crêpe onto her plate before putting serving himself.

"Compliments to the chefs," Preach tells them, raising his coffee mug in their direction. Amir and Jaz trade jokes and grins as they accept the compliments from the others in the team.

After breakfast, Dalton volunteers to wash up and Jaz perches up on the nearby bench to watch him. 

"Maybe I should get cooking lessons from Amir, too," he muses, slanting her a grin and she laughs.

"I _like_ the food you cook. Let's send McG or Preach to cooking class."

That makes him laugh and he reaches past her to put a plate away behind her. "Want me to move, Top?" she asks him, raising an eyebrow quizzically as his arm is almost around her to reach into the cupboard.

He clears his throat. "No, it's fine," he says and pulls back and hands her the plate instead which she puts away behind her.

"I actually liked the eggs … runny and all …" he tells her with a crooked smile.

"You making fun of me, Top?" she demands in amusement and he shakes his head. 

"It's the whole package I guess … you singing along to show tunes as you cook breakfast while wearing your pyjamas … it's funny…" he shrugs. 

"You're full of surprises sometimes," she tells him and he finds himself leaning towards where she's sitting on the counter and it's with the greatest of effort that he resists the urge to brush her hair from her cheek. "Although I think Preach singing along to Tom Jones is also pretty damned entertaining."

He laughs and returns to the sink to continue washing up, conscious of having moved back from the dangerous line that he's aware that he must never, ever cross.

"Come join me for breakfast detail tomorrow, Top. You can be Nathan Detroit and I'll be Adelaide."

He'd never really known any show tunes let alone their damned lyrics before meeting Jaz but now all of them had the hell of Guys and Dolls and a plethora of other musicals stuck in their heads over and over and over again …

"It's a date," he replies before he can temper his words and Jaz smiles to herself.

Unlike Dalton, Jaz's not particularly afraid of crossing lines ...


	10. Unit Cohesion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was reading some articles about women in combat teams so decided to do a tiny scribble about that topic ...

Dalton glanced up from where he was typing up the mission report on his notebook. 

"What's up with Jaz?" he asked when the dark-haired woman walked out of the room with a bucket, mop and an extremely surly expression.

McG and Preach glanced at one another and then over at Amir who winced.

"What did you do?" Dalton asked him, tilting his head.

Amir grimaced. "I didn't do anything. Jaz caught me reading that leaked section from the recent Marine Corps study."

"I thought only four pages got leaked," Dalton queried.

"Yeah, but that bit was bad enough…" Amir told him ruefully, handing him the slightly crumpled print-out.

Dalton took it from him, scanning it quickly and rolling his eyes at some sections before going in search of the sniper.

Jaz was in the bathroom stabbing at the floor with the mop viciously.

"Careful – that floor didn't do anything to deserve anything near that level of violence, Jaz," Dalton remarked in amusement, picking up a cloth and the spray bottle of detergent and starting to clean the mirror. "I expect violence commensurate with the threat level in question."

Jaz rolled her eyes at him before wringing out the mop and mopping a new section of the floor.

"Apparently both men and women reported a breakdown in unit cohesion when women were in the team – and that the decision to open combat roles to female soldiers, is _fundamentally flawed_." 

Dalton laughed. "And didn't the same paper say that women got injured more frequently and shot less accurately than men?"

"Yes," she bit out.

"And here we have Jasmine Khan – a better shot than anyone in the team… except maybe yours truly."

"Better than you," she retorted.

"Anything you can do …"

"I can do better," she countered, a grin pulling at her mouth reluctantly.

"Let's face it, Jaz – reports like that can be spun one way or the other. You know better than to believe what you read. We're a team. We all have different strengths. It's how we work together. And at the end of the day, you know that I don't give a damn about what some Jarhead report says."

Jaz laughed, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "That's just your Army bias coming out, Top."

He grinned at her face in the mirror. "Hey, that's unfair. I'm always very charitable towards our lesser Navy friends. Anyway, why do you care what some stupid report says about women in combat anyway? You know it's not going to change our team's make-up."

"Just shits me is all," she told him, sliding the bucket towards the far end of the room with a booted foot.

"You thinking of bugging out on me and joining the Marines or something?" he teased her.

"Hell no," she replied immediately. 

"Well then, we don't have a problem. We all know that the Marine corps is probably one of the strongest bastions of maleness in the US military … the ground combat units have years of historical bias that are going to take a long time to get rid of. Clearly our chain of command has its own view."

"Unlike the lieutenant colonel who said _we ignore biology at our own peril. In the name of advancing women’s rights we cannot risk diminishing the capabilities of ground combat units._ "

Dalton lifted an eyebrow. "If I'm thinking to the same lieutenant colonel, he also said that men and women living and sleeping in close quarters would be a problem because of risk of sexual desire. Clearly he's never met anyone gay …" Before Jaz could speak, Dalton continued. "And if it's the same lieutenant colonel, he also gave the example that women weren't suitable for combat because some of them couldn't carry 103lb 155mm shells for the howitzers and 100lbs of body armour and equipment."

"Well – "

"And if I was after just a pack mule to carry my heavy gear, then yeah maybe some women wouldn't be suitable … but one – not all men can carry that much gear either and two, I have a need of a wide variety of skills in our team and let's face it, McG gets more PMS than you do on mission sometimes."

Preach, McG and Amir walked into the bathroom in time to hear Dalton's last comment.

"Hey, I resemble that remark," McG joked, pretending to look offended while the others gave him hell.

Jaz pushed the mop towards McG who continued mopping as Jaz handed Amir the toilet brush.

"For the record, I have no problem with women in combat," Amir wanted her to know as he stared down at the toilet brush.

"I know that, man," Jaz told him and tipped out the bucket and refilled it with hot water, pouring in more detergent so that McG could continue mopping.

"Missed a spot, Top," Preach told Dalton, pointing at a spot on the sink.

"All yours," Dalton told him handing him the detergent and sponge as he and Jaz headed towards the door.

"Was this all part of your evil plan to get us to clean the bathroom?" Amir asked plaintively.

"You got it," Jaz called over her shoulder.


	11. The Magnificent Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set at the end of 1.08 Stealth

"Command, that's Mortem Actual. Back on Mongolia firma. How do you read?"

"Loud and clear and so happy to hear from you." The relief in Campbell's voice is obvious to everyone in the team.

"You'll be happy to know we come bearing gifts, a little technology for the kids. Should help everyone sleep a little better at night."

"Well, I never doubted that you'd come through, but I have to admit, I am not a fan - of the old-school methods."

Dalton gives a short chuckle. "Speak for yourself. We just saved ourselves a 20-mile ruck. I'll have a full debrief for you, once we rendezvous with the chopper. Mortem Actual out."

The five of them ride side by side, temporarily quiet. McG, never one for silence remarks. "You know, I always wanted to ride off into the sunset after a mission like this. It's like Gary Cooper in "Vera Cruz."

"Oh come on, man. That's an amateur choice," Dalton responds.

"What?"

"You're yeah, you're forgetting about John Wayne in "Hondo. Ah … The Comancheros."

"What?" Jaz demands in disbelief. "The Comancheros"? Come on, that's not really a movie."

"Don't even ask me," Preach counters. "I'm partial to "Rififi.

"God bless you," Dalton responds appreciatively.

"I'm sorry, what? That's not even a Western." McG points out accusingly.

"It's French. Film noir," Preach tells him coolly.

"Sounds like a pasta, man," McG denies.

Dalton smiles at the sound of Jaz's laughter as Preach defends his choice. "It's actually considered by most to be a classic."

"What about you, Amir? What's your favourite movie?" Jaz asks the newest member of their team.

Amir pretends to consider the question seriously for a moment before responding. "As far as Westerns go, I'm partial to "Blazing Saddles."

"Oh, come on!" Preach protests in feigned outrage.

"Okay, that one I _have_ heard of," Jaz replies, the laughter still in her voice as their horses continue walking through the wild and open grassland.

"It's beautiful here," Dalton remarks as they watch a falcon fly overhead in the empty blue sky. 

Jaz nods. "How are your ribs?"

"Fine as long as I don't laugh," he tells her with a crooked smile. It's in deference to his battered and beaten up self that they're not galloping across the grassland towards the village. McG has strapped up his chest securely and he's rejected the offer of opiates, wanting to stay sharp until they get to safety.

"What about you, Jaz. Which movie?"

She grins. "Magnificent Seven of course."

"1960 Classic, 2016 remake – or the television series?"

She pretends to look grossly offended. "1960 classic of course."

"He's got too much hair to be Yul Brynner," Preach interjects in their conversation.

"Who says he's Larabee?" Jaz demands and Preach chuckles and rides on, leaving the two of them to their banter.

"You do know that pretty much all of them died in the Magnificent Seven, right?"

Jaz shrugs. "And your point is? I'm a sniper, Top. People like me don't get to live to a ripe old age." Dalton's face darkens but before he can turn the tone of the conversation serious, Jaz speaks again. "Told you before… I'm goin' down in a blaze of glory."

"No, no no … Young Guns does _not_ count as a classic Western, Jaz… not by any yardstick," Dalton tells her emphatically, momentarily diverted by her allusion.

"So can I be Bon Jovi?" McG wants to know.

"Bon Jovi wasn't actually in the movie, he just sang the theme song," Amir corrects him. 

Jaz laughs and looks over at McG as the village comes into sight. "So McG – "

McG glances over at her. "No way Jaz, not if I get there first," and the two of them fly off into the distance at a furious gallop, McG slightly in the lead.

Preach glances over at Dalton who is watching Jaz ride away from the group, a smile curving his mouth and an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, Preach," Dalton tells the other man without even looking at him. 

"Didn't say a word, Top," Preach protests.

"You don't have to," Dalton replies ruefully.

"And neither do you ..." He holds his hands up in surrender when Dalton glares at him and then the three of them continue walking towards the village as Jaz and McG come riding back towards them, McG crowing exultantly in victory as Jaz shoots him dirty looks.


	12. Bruised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippet set after 1.08 Stealth.

"I just got a broken rib, or three, and a bruised ego. I just almost got my ass whupped. Guy was a corn-fed son a bitch."  
\- Adam Dalton, Stealth

Dalton groans slightly, the stabbing pain in his ribs making him wince. McG says he's badly bruised but none of his ribs are actually broken. Just feels like it.

"Geez Top, you look like shit," Jaz remarks from the shadows and Dalton starts abruptly, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of his quarters.

"Just how long have you been sitting there?" he demands testily, trying to move into a sitting position. "No offence, but it's kind of creepy."

"Long enough. Don't move – McG says you should try to lie still for a bit." Jaz tells him urgently, moving forward to push him back down onto his bunk.

"How long have I been out?" he demands, staring through the window out into the blackness of night.

"Just a few hours … " her low-pitched, slightly husky voice has a thread of excitement in it that he recognises immediately despite her attempts to stay cool.

"What is it?" he asks her immediately. "What's so important that you decide to stand watch over my peacefully slumbering person."

"Noisily snoring carcass more like," she snorts. 

He laughs. "Out with it, Jaz."

She holds up her phone and plays a recording for him. He recognises Ranier Boothe's tones immediately although he does not recognise the panic in the man's voice.

_If this leads back to us, we're finished. Do you understand? Not for a month, not for a year. How did you let this happen? I told you we can't do business with anyone who goes after the Americans. How many times have I said that? And what did you just do? You made a deal with Fahim Jarif, a man who went directly after Americans by bombing that beach in Turkey. You don't think Jarif is in their crosshairs? You don't think the Americans will be coming for Jarif with a scorched-earth policy? There were kids on that beach._

His eyes widen as he stares into Jaz's exultant eyes. "No. Fucking Way."

"Way," she tells him with an emphatic grin on her face, her dark eyes glowing with anticipation, her slim body buzzing with excitement. 

All this time, they've been waiting to find the man responsible for the Karatas Beach attack that killed four American servicemen and wounded 21 others. The bug that they planed on Ranier Boothe has finally paid off.

"What are our instructions?" he wants to know.

"Command is still looking into it … "

"Surely Jarif meets all three criteria necessary to clear the threshold for lethal action."

"I'd say so," Jaz agrees, leaning forward. "We're waiting … but Preach thinks we're going to get the call any day now. So you'd better hurry up and get better, Top … otherwise you're going to have sit this one out."

"Not gonna happen," he drawls and allows himself to relax slightly on his bunk, staring towards Jaz's smiling face. She's clearly just showered as her hair's damp and falling about her slender shoulders in a thick cloud. He can smell her shampoo, smell the soap on her clean skin. It's a scent as familiar to him as his own shaving lotion. He knows all her weird quirks … the way she sniffs dismissively when she's annoyed. The stubborn set of her shoulders when her mind is made up. The way her dark eyes snap when she disagrees with him.

"How's the rest of the team?"

"Raring to go of course."

"Nice of you to come and watch over me. Very … Florence Nightingale of you."

She sniffs contemptuously. "Just making sure you didn't die in your sleep, Top."

He laughs and then winces at the pain that stabs through his chest. There's a flicker of concern in her eyes before she banishes it.

"I'm honoured," he tells her.

"Don’t be. Can't do this mission with you. Just making sure you woke up."

Despite her careless words, there's genuine warmth and care in her voice and Dalton smiles to himself. Although Jaz Khan's got defences around her that would rival those of Fort Knox, Dalton breached them a long time ago …


	13. Talk To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set at the end of 1.10 Desperate Measures.

Lying on her side in the back of of Hossein's truck, hidden beneath the wooden slats, Jaz rests her head on her hands, aware that the blood in her cuts is congealing, sticking to her white sleeves. There's been no time for a change of clothes.

It's more than 21 hours drive to Incirlik and Jaz has completely lost track of the time … aware only of the heaviness of her thoughts, the stinging of her wounds … the silent concern of Dalton as he lies alongside her in the darkness. "I should be with her in case she needs – " McG had started saying but Dalton had waved him aside.

"I got it," he had told the medic briefly, his voice brooking no argument. Jaz is glad it's Dalton beside her. McG would have been nosy… he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from asking questions, from trying to comfort her. At least half a dozen hours have passed if not more and Dalton still hasn't said a word.

_You will spend the night in solitary. Actually, that's not accurate. I'll be with you._

She stares straight ahead unseeingly, grateful for even the minimal splashes of colour afforded to her in the darkness. Anything is better than the blinding whiteness of her immediate memories.

_Your country may have told us who you are, but there is so much more inside your brain I need to extract._

Everything hurts. Her face … the stinging of the deep cuts on her arms and wrists … Her eyes are dry and tight …

_I will give you nothing._

_You will give me everything._

Behind her, Dalton speaks for the first time in what seems like forever. "Talk to me." 

His voice is matter-of-fact, as if he's giving her standard orders. As if this has been a mission like all the others.

Jaz's voice is halting. "I should've played things differently. I got us all into this mess." Her voice is full of self-loathing.

Not surprisingly, Dalton won't support her pity party. "Did you kill Jarif the guy who orchestrated the murders of civilians and children and your fellow servicemen?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Are we getting out of this country?"

"Yeah," she replies obediently like the good soldier that she is.

"Yeah, we are," he tells her, his tone almost harsh. "So then that's it, all right? You did good. Job done."

Now and then the bumpiness of the road causes her body to slide back against his and he doesn't pull back, instead steadying her calmly and allowing her to rest against him. They're both sweaty and unbathed and probably stink … but it's nothing they haven't gone through before … suffering through heat, dirt and sweat. At this point, that doesn't matter. Nothing matters except that conflicting emotions are swirling around in Jaz's head. Relief that she's alive. That the team's alive… but there's a sharp sense of failure that cuts through her like a rusty blade.

As the truck slows, down, Dalton's voice is reassuring. "Must be approaching the border crossing."

When the border guards search the truck, Jaz barely permits herself to breathe, taking shallow breaths … inhaling and exhaling miniscule amounts of air as she wills them not to discover the hiding spot.

Dalton is completely motionless, his breathing as silent as hers.

"There's nothing here. Wrap it up," she hears the guard say.

Relief sweeps over her … but she stiffens as the guard drops something onto the false floor of the truck and then crouches down.

"Get in here. Help me with this," she hears him say. Behind her, she can feel the tension in Dalton's body pressed against hers.

Their hiding spot has been discovered.

The border guard hits the wooden slat with the crowbar hard. It's not going to take them long to find them. Dalton has his pistol in his hand, ready to shoot his way out. They're going to die and Jaz closes her eyes for a moment, knowing that her actions have led to this – the death of every single member of her team…

But then there's gunfire … a shout … the truck accelerates sharply from a standstill and pushes forward, slamming through a gate … and driving into the darkness …

*

The truck pulls over and Amir tells them that they're in Turkey and safe. Dalton looks at Amir and the dark-haired man's eyes cloud over with sorrow.

"He said that they had taken his daughter from him but he wouldn't let them take his friends."

There was a long moment's silence as each of them reflected upon the soft-spoken and kind man who had sacrificed his life so that they might live.

"We've got five hours before we get to Incirlik. Patricia's called for an escort…"

They sit in the back of the truck as Preach and Amir take turns driving. Dalton cuts the cuffs off her wrists and ankles, massaging the numb skin with his firm hands.

He sits and watches as McG tends to her wounds, his eyes flickering with unreadable emotions as he sees the deep cuts in her flesh, the bruises and cuts around her mouth and eyes.

"Patricia could go to jail for what she did…" Jaz says in a low voice, staring at Dalton.

"Yeah, she knows that."

When McG's finished patching her up, he stretches out in the back of the truck and pretends to go to sleep to give them the semblance of privacy.

"You've all risked everything for me … Patricia's career … your lives. Hossein gave his life …"

"It's not your fault, Jaz. It's not. Tell me what they did to you... talk to me ..." he urges her softly, urgently, his eyes dark and pained.

Jaz closes her eyes momentarily. All she can see is the photograph of Dalton's dead body, slumped in a chair and bloodstained more painful than the memory of her bruises and strategic cuts to her body. That was more real than her own injuries.

"I'm not ready to talk about it yet, Top. I'll tell you … Promise. But now … I just can't …just can't ..." she whispers hoarsely, her dark eyes wide and empty.

He nods, pulling a jacket around his shoulders and leans back in the truck, watching over her as she sits and stares into the distance.

"I knew you'd come for me," she tells him. "I didn't want you to … but I knew you would."

"Damned straight," he tells her harshly and despite how fucked up everything things are … despite all that … everything's right with the world again …


	14. Nightmares Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set just immediately after 1.10 Desperate Measures but before 1.11 Grounded.
> 
> In response to two prompts from this list of [this tumblr prompts](http://koalathebear.tumblr.com/post/171255983826/send-me-two-characters-or-more-and-a-prompt-and):
> 
> 18\. “I’m alive… I can tell because of the pain  
> 25\. “My nightmares are usually about losing you.”

Jaz comes awake abruptly, her eyes snapping open in the darkness, a sob in her throat. The steady breathing of her team-mates surrounds her in the dorm … McG's loud and incredibly annoying snores. Amir's occasional muttering beneath his breath of weird, incoherent crap. Preach's almost silent sleeping. 

The only sound missing is that of Dalton's sleep breathing. The usual steady and reassuring inhale and exhale. She turns her head and looks towards him, her eyes growing accustomed to the darkness. He's lying in his bunk, wide awake staring at her unblinkingly across the room.

As she watches him, he slides out of his bunk, reaches for his t-shirt to pull over his tightly muscled torso and gestures for her to follow him.

Grimacing, she gets out of her bunk and follows him outside of the hut where they stand on the dirt ground in the darkness. He hands her a blanket to put around her shoulders because the early morning air is sharp and chill.

"Not talking about it, Top," she tells him without looking at him.

"Not asking you to," he replies, staring out into the darkness. "It's your first night back – you should have stayed at the hospital."

"I wanted to be here," she replies stubbornly.

"Look at you though … " he tell her, gesturing at the cuts and bruises – some of them visible on her face. Others less visible. She's still bleeding, still hurting.

She shrugs carelessly. "I’m alive. I can tell because of the pain," she says with flippant and characteristic bravado.

He turns and looks at her and his expression is quelling. Jaz grimaces. They've spoken before when [she's had nightmares](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12603852/chapters/28933131). Nightmares are part of the job description. An inevitable consequence of the dark and morally questionable deeds they do.

"What's the big deal, Top? My nightmares before used to be about Vallins. Now they're about the shit that went down in Tehran. I'm a big girl. I'll cope."

"You don't have to talk to me, Jaz. I'm cool with that," he tells her evenly. "But it will hit you … sooner or later it will hit you like a fist in the gut … and you are going to need to talk about it."

"What are your nightmares about, then Top?" she challenges him, going on the attack. Flipping the conversation so that it's about him.

He looks at her and gives her a crooked smile, fully aware of her crude tactics of diversion. "My nightmares are usually about losing you," he replies and walks back to their dorm, leaving Jaz staring after him in shock.


	15. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a small scribble set during and after 1.11 Grounded.

"Hey, so he cleared you already, huh?" Preach asks Jaz, his smile broad and pleased.

"Mm-hmm, said I'm as good as new," Jaz replies.

"Man, I'm really happy to have you back, Jaz," McG tells her with sincerity and then grins wickedly. "Mainly because it was Amir's turn on overwatch next. And it was making me really nervous to think about him pointing any gun in my direction, no? – "

Jaz laughs, partly because she's supposed to but partly because it's always fun to give Amir a hard time.

"Come on, man," Amir protests, "You know my aim is true."

"Yeah, well, I'll bet you a big-faced Benjamin you don't hit that stake," Preach challenges him.

"You're on, Preach," Amir counters gamely.

"Show him proof," Preach tells him.

Amir tosses the horse shoe and it lands true. "Boom!" he exclaims exultantly as Jaz crows in support.

Amir grins broadly, fist-bumping her.

"Pure luck."

"It's good to have you back," Amir tells her.

"Amir," McG calls to him. "Double or nothing, nine ball, right now."

"All right," he shrugs.

"Oh, he's game. I'm about to make some money," McG crows smugly.

"I'm down 100, y'all better let me get a piece of that action," Preach says ruefully.

"Let's go," McG invites them all. 

Jaz looks towards Dalton who's standing nearby. Somehow, during the course of the conversation he's moved away from stoking the makeshift bonfire to standing just a few feet away from her, drinking from the bottle of beer in his hand and then sitting across from her. All of this has been wordless … but strangely deliberate.

Eventually he rises to his feet and walks over to her, sitting beside her as the fire blazes before them fiercely.

"Xander's good people, yeah?" he asks her.

"You know him?"

"We're well acquainted."

Jaz looks at him, knowing that he's got more to say. A lot more to say … 

"You know what, in our line of work I think experience … it comes at a pretty steep cost.  
I was in Fallujah in the fall of '04. And the op tempo was so high. And we couldn't even keep track of the numbers that we were racking up. By that time, I mean, I had spilled so much blood. You get a taste for it, you know? My CSM had to pull me off of some asshole whose throat I'd just slit 'cause he killed one of my friends. And it wasn't enough that I killed him. You know, I wanted to take his head, and I wanted to hang it on a wall, over my rack. I lost sight of what made me better than them. I don't … I don't know if, um If we have to have a dark side to do what we do, Jaz. But I know that I met mine. And, uh no matter what I do … that guy never goes away."

By the end of his monologue, Jaz doesn't know if Dalton's words were for her benefit or for his … He stares down at his now empty bottle of beer moodily and then glanced at Jaz. She says nothing, her dark eyes calm, quiet and completely without judgment. They sit there in companionable silence until the others come out, noisy and boisterous.

*

Much later, when the rest of the team are asleep, Dalton stands in the doorway of the mess for a long moment watching Jaz silently. She's sitting at the table alone, dark hair falling over her face, arm stretched out before her as she nurses a mug.

"Why are you being so creepy, Top?" she asks without looking around at him.

He grins ruefully. He should know better than to try to sneak up on the Ninja. He takes a step forward towards her.

"What'll you have?" she asks him, grinning at him crookedly.

"I'll have what you're having," Dalton tells her. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the injury above her left eyebrow … on the barely healed cut marring her lower lip. They all get injured all the time, he's not sure why it bothers him so much to see her smooth skin so damaged this time. Who's he kidding? He knows exactly why.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Really? You want Grandma Carter's no-fail naptime tea?" she challenges and Dalton laughs softly.

"Sounds good to me."

He watches as she makes the tea for him and sets it down in front of him

"If you're here to ask me again if I want to rotate home early, I don't want to hear," she tells him. "I'm not leaving early," she tells him firmly and he holds up his hands.

"You made that crystal clear to me already. So why are you out here instead of in there?" he asks.

"McG's snoring was causing me permanent hearing loss," she drawls. Dalton's mouth quivers in a slight smile but he becomes serious again.

He takes a sip of the tea. Jaz slants him a look. "Xander told you what we talked about." It's not a question.

"This is my team," Dalton says carefully and Jaz gives a one shouldered shrug.

"I know."

"Okay." He waits to see what she'll say next.

"Not ready to talk about any of it with you, Top," she tells him. She takes the sting out of her words. "Not yet."

He nods. "When you're ready – I'm here."

"I know that," she tells him and his smile is wry. 

They sit at the table, drinking their tea and talking about absolutely nothing until the sun rises and the others show up, sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired.


	16. Rough Men Stand Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set towards the end of 1.13 Close to Home.

_"As George Orwell pointed out, people sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf."_  
\- 1993 Washington Times essay by Richard Grenier

The dusty room is quiet except for the breathing of the two men who stare at one another calmly and unwaveringly. Both under absolutely no illusion about the lethal intentions of the other.

"Yeah? I suppose this is how it ends for guys like us. Not with some 21-gun salute and a field full of weeping loved ones."

"Yeah, just in a dark room with another quiet professional," Dalton replies implacably.

*

After he fires the second bullet, Dalton stays in the room with Hoffman's dead body. Contemplating the violence of his actions, he's not sure whether to be disturbed or satisfied at the complete lack of remorse for what he's just done.

When he returns to the hospital, Jaz is waiting for him outside the entrance. As usual, her dark eyes miss nothing and are full of steady comprehension.

"Take it you beat me to it, Top," Jaz says finally. It's not a question.

"How did you know?" he asks he walks past her to sit down on the bench for smokers. There are cigarette butts all over the ground despite the existence of a trash can. His nose twitches in distaste at the unpleasant smell of stale tobacco laced with tension and grief.

"Admissions confirmed that Preach didn't have his sidearm on him when he was brought in. When you yanked your comms, left your phones, went dark and disappeared for hours … well …" Her strong slender hands make a graceful motion through the air in place of words. 

"You guessed that I wasn't going to haul the bastard in in handcuffs?" Dalton replies.

"Wasn't a guess," she tells him coolly, coming to sit beside him on the bench.

He leans back against the wall and with his eyes closed, tells her what just took place.

"Well he drew first …" Jaz points out. "Not really murder."

"You know I'd have done it anyway, even if he hadn't drawn first…"

Jaz nods slowly. She knows he's thinking about the things he told her that night after his return from the Bogotá mission – the cost of their line of work, his acknowledgement of his own dark side.

"You didn't do this because of a taste for blood, Top. This was justice – for what Hoffman had done… in the past and to our team today," she tells him in a low voice.

"Judge, jury and executioner. What gives me that right?" he asks rhetorically, his voice harsh. "What of the rule of law if ordinary man takes the law into his own hands?" 

Jaz snorts. "Don't give me that bullshit, Top. I can't see you descending into anarchy and vigilantism. Think about it this way – Hoffman was already supposed to be taken out by the CIA. The decision had been made that lethal force was justified. You just executed that order."

"And you and I both know I'd have still done it anyway."

"I trust your judgment far more than anyone else's," she tells him without looking at him.

Her words are like a fist to the gut and he reaches out to touch her cheek and she turns back to look at him, her dark eyes steady and calm. For just a moment she lets her gaze say all the things that both of them keep hidden all the time and her mouth trembles slightly as his knuckles slide lightly over the smoothness of her cheek before brushing the hair back from her face.

"I wish – " she starts to say.

"I know," he tells her softly and his light eyes are filled with regret and longing.

He had told Hoffman that maybe hell was the perfect memory of everything that they'd ever done but he finds himself hoping that he will never, ever forget anything about Jaz Khan …


	17. You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was pretty upset when they cancelled The Brave. Knowing that the team were heading back State-side soon, I knew that it was probably as good a time to end the series as any, but it still hurt that I'd never know what happened to them all. I had so many unanswered questions. The Jaz/Dalton relationship would never get closure. So I decided to write my own, somewhat sappy conclusion.

The sound of the waves crashing heavily on the shore in the distance were repetitive and steady … 

Some might have found the relentless sound annoying, even headache-inducing, but Jaz found the predictability of the sound comforting and reassuring as she lay in in the somewhat uncomfortable bed staring up at a ceiling she couldn't see through the black of the impenetrable darkness.

There were no street lights in the coastal village and at night, when she turned out the lights in the small master bedroom, she found herself completely enveloped in blackness … Again, something that was strangely reassuring even though after she turned out the light, it meant that she was forced to feel her way through the darkness… fingertips reaching out blindly through empty spaces to find the edge of the bed, the wall… the doorway. It gave her the sensation of rediscovering the world again through different senses, even though it had resulted in a few new bruises – more bruises than she already had.

Each day ended the way it started. Lying in the bed staring up at the ceiling and trying unsuccessfully to banish a myriad of chaotic thoughts from her head. Images, scenes and conversations that replayed endlessly like an unsettling mantra … a vivid movie on repeat that just would not stop looping in her head. The insistent sound of the calling insects and native birds spiralled to an almost deafening crescendo, playing a backdrop to her equally unsettled thoughts.

 _Where the hell are you, Jaz?_ Amir and the others demanded on their WhatsApp chat channel. Since returning home from their deployment, the team had scattered – Preach convalescing with his family, sending photos of him looking rueful while being surrounded by his wife and daughters. Amir was sending photo after photo of his culinary inventions. McG was sending photos of the interiors of various drinking holes – and the beautiful women who were keeping him company.

Dalton was relatively silent in comparison. Just the occasional wise-crack to let them know he was alive. Jaz was engaging with the group but she hadn't told them that after they'd gone back state-side that she'd gone about as far away from everything as she could … 

She had plunged herself into the middle of a national park in coastal Australia, cut off from most of civilisation and yet the emotional baggage she carried in her head remained despite her best efforts to banish it.

_Let me guess – you're in Mexico._

_Nope._

_If you need to talk, I'm here._ Of course that was Preach.

_I'm fine, you concentrate on getting better, old man._

_Hey I resemble that remark. Top – tell her to be nice to me._

_Since when can anyone tell Jaz what to do?_

Jaz put her phone down and stared out the window with blank, unseeing eyes wishing she could dismiss her memories with equal ease.

After a solitary breakfast of fruit and granola bolstered by a strong coffee, she picked up her beach towel and hat and walked the short distance through the bush to the beach, walking past the small herd of kangaroos that studied her with unblinking, indifferent dark eyes. The path although well-trodden was still rough and uneven, hiding the beach from all those but the most persistent. 

As usual, the beach was almost deserted. There were a few persistent surfers bobbing out in the deeper waters, waiting optimistically for a wave, their heads silhouetted against the horizon. 

To the left, an old couple walked back and forth on the beach, their elderly border collie jogging alongside them hopefully. Now and then a group of tourists would walk past, marvelling at the almost pristine emptiness of the beach.

She paddled in the water for a time, allowing the cold, clear water to wash around her as she studied the cloudless blue sky and tried yet again to empty her thoughts. It didn't work. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw a smiling pair of light grey eyes, the wry twist of a smile and heard the deliberate tones that seemed to linger in her thoughts no matter what she did.

Walking out of the water, she sat down on her towel and studied the horizon, feeling the cool sea breeze dry her skin and the dark, black tangle of her heavy hair. She lost track of time as she drew her legs up against her body, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. 

Footsteps nearby made her turn her head slightly and then suddenly someone dropped down onto the sand beside her. She slanted a very startled look at him, frowning in perplexity as if she could not quite believe that he was there.

At the same time, she was painful conscious of the feeling of intense joy she felt at seeing him again after all this time. Actually, she had felt that way every time she had seen him… 

Clearly she had spent far too much time alone in the middle of national park … either her hallucinations were becoming more realistic or she had somehow summoned him with her thoughts.

"Hey," he greeted her casually, as if it was entirely normal for him to be here out in the middle of nowhere.

She frowned. "How the hell did you find me?" she asked a little uncertainly, staring at him with disbelief in her dark eyes. 

He was dressed casually in a dark grey t-shirt and long khaki shorts. His hair was shorter than she recalled and he was unshaven, a thick stubble shadowing his jaw. He looked a little tired and there was a tightness around his mouth as if he had a lot to say but was deliberately refraining from saying it.

He looked comfortable in this wild setting, grinning at her crookedly as he gestured at the beach. "You weren’t very hard to locate," he pointed out with a wry smile, referring to the fact that with the exception of the elderly couple with their dog, she was now the only person on the beach.

His rueful smile reminded her of his effortless grace and good-looks. She was still deeply attracted to him despite doing everything she could put him out of her mind.

"I mean how did you know I was _here_ ," she asked him. "I didn't tell anyone where I was going."

He tilted his head slightly and grinned. "You do know who I work for, don't you?"

"Isn't that a misuse of resources, Top?" she asked, shading her eyes as she stared at him.

"Not the first time I've crossed a line," he said with a careless shrug. "Gotta say – this is extreme even for you. Australia, Jaz?"

"You look good," he told her, his light eyes appreciative and very warm as they studied her flushed face and tousled hair.

"I look a mess," she told him with a scowl, a hand going to her tangled, salt-encrusted hair and touching her sunburned skin self-consciously.

"The freckles are very cute," he told her earnestly.

"Why are you here?" she wanted to know, rejecting his playful manner coldly.

A flicker of emotion passed over his usually impassive face. 

"How can you even ask that? We ship back state-side and then you vanish – course I'm going to check up on you and make sure you're ok."

"You're not my commanding officer anymore," she told him haltingly, the words feeling wrong even as she said them.

He shot her a speaking look, but said nothing. With a slight, dismissive shrug of her shoulders she looked out to sea. A pod of dolphins swam past on the horizon and they sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying the peace and beauty of the sight.

"Well you can see I'm fine … I don't need you checking up on me like I'm a broken doll." He shook his head at her, hurt clouding his eyes.

"That what you think this is?"

"What is it, then?" she asked him deliberately. "I know you worry about all of us. But it's not your job anymore. You can move on."

His voice was low and firm. "Really."

"And what about us?" he asked her, his inflection very careful.

"Us?" she asked incredulously. "I'm sorry but I don't recall there ever being an … _us_ ,", she reminded him, her dark eyes kindling. "You've always been very professional and careful about making that clear."

"I never wanted to … destroy what we had … " he told her calmly.

"No you didn't," she agreed. "You never set a foot wrong… that's why nothing ever happened." 

Nothing except for the fact that the shared sense of humour .. understanding, camaraderie and connection had flared up with abrupt and sudden intensity, taking them both by surprise. 

For the first time in her life, another person shared her thoughts, anticipated her words … bit back a smile in quiet appreciation of something she said during a briefing … Missions took on a whole different undertone and nuance with someone so attuned to her thinking – able to anticipate her thoughts and actions. Nothing had ever happened in the sense that they'd never kissed … even touched … but in another sense, it felt like everything had happened.

Hurt flickered in his eyes again. "Nothing?" he repeated tonelessly. "You consider what was between us was nothing?"

"Well what would you say?"

His eyes darkened. "You know that there was definitely something. There is definitely something between us. "

Her eyes widened. "What?" she demanded incredulously. "You never let yourself say that before."

"You were in my team – I was your commanding officer."

She held up a hand and shook her head. "Don't say it," she told him warningly. "Please don't."

His gaze met hers squarely and unflinchingly. She'd always thought that his eyes were grey. A light, translucent grey. Today they looked as blue as the ocean that stretched out ahead of them. Deep, shadowed and very troubled. She was tempted to reach out and touch her hand to his cheek, to run her fingertips along the faintly greying stubble on his chin. Despite everything, despite all of her protestations, she still wanted to press her lips to his and feel his body against hers.

He was so compelling and attractive and she was still so drawn to him … She was pathetically weak and it bothered her so much it almost hurt.

"We could both stay here," he offered her.

"'I'm not retired yet…" she reminded him with a crooked smile.

He slanted her a glance. "If you wanted to retire … " he offered cautiously. "I could commute … work remotely …"

She shook her head. "I'm more than happy to earn my own way. I'm not ready to retire and I'm certainly not keen to be a kept woman."

He shook his head, his heavy brows drawn together in a frown. "You misunderstand me… I'm just trying to say - "

"Sorry," she apologised. "I know you're trying to … be a good guy…."

He gave a short, humourless laugh. "Good guy? Thanks a lot." There was a very bitter twist to his firm mouth.

She glanced over at him again and he ran a hand through his short hair, exhaling slowly, the frustration plain on his face. 

Then, as if he couldn't help himself, he gave her a quick smile that scarcely reached his light eyes. "Although not sure if this really the place you really want to stay in the long-term," he told her with mock gravity. "I went to the drug store in town for sunscreen and apparently there's a woman who has opened all the jars of papaya ointment and put her finger in them…"

She choked back a laughter. "Seriously?"

"Absolutely. Staff are seriously considering reporting her to the police," he told her with complete seriousness. "Do you really want to live in a place with such a terrible crime rate?" His eyes were brimming with playful laughter, teasing her, lapsing back into levity.

"I'll take my chances, I guess," she replied, smiling back at him despite herself. It was beguilingly easy to fall back into their old, easy ways… it was always so effortless to smile with him… joke with him and share a laugh … It had been like that from the first time they'd met.

Both had walked in to the job thinking it would be like all their previous working engagements. Neither had expected to discover a kindred spirit - a soul mate ...

"So … what is it that you want?" he asked her abruptly. "If it's within my power … it's yours," he promised her earnestly, a gentle smile in his eyes. "No - don't joke … don't lie to me," he told her. "This is me you're talking to … the other half of your brain … I'll know if you lie to me."

She felt her face flush self-consciously and he reached out his hand to touch her cheek lightly, brushing the tangled, salt-encrusted hair from her face.

Despite herself, despite her wariness, her heart was in her eyes and with him staring at her so unwaveringly, she could not find it within herself to say anything other than the complete truth.

"You, Top," she said finally, her voice soft and her eyes dark. "I want you."

"You know that I've always been yours," he told her and meant it and when his lips finally came down on hers for a lingering kiss, she knew it to be true.


End file.
